


grit under your fingernails (and his smile)

by ashers_kiss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Red Room references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 13:22:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4350392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James has always been ridiculously good at this, the very few times they had the luxury.  Natasha swears he enjoys this just as much as she does.</p><p>And oh, she <i>does</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grit under your fingernails (and his smile)

**Author's Note:**

> I originally started writing this during Bucky/Nat Week in March, but...college got the better of me. _Then_ I saw the [Smut-a-thon](http://fuckyeahbuckynatasha.tumblr.com/post/122984703818/well-then-lets-practice-a-bucky-natasha) (which is an _amazing_ idea and one I thoroughly enjoyed watching ;)), but it was being held during my first week in my new job. So I thought, okay, I'll just finish it off at the weekend.
> 
> Yeah, that assumed I was still able to write smut like I used to. /o\ (I used to have a _reputation_. I don't know what happened, but I blame the Avengers in some way.)
> 
> So, still technically for the Smut-a-thon, just...late. Based on [this glorious and super super duper nsfw art](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com/post/112175298558/all-the-proportions-are-wrong-in-this-picture-but) by [thefilthiestpiglet](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com), who graciously allowed me to use it as a prompt way back during the original Week.
> 
> Huge, _enormous_ thanks to go my darling [amine-eyes](http://amine-eyes.tumblr.com) for reading over this and helping me with the bits I got stuck. I owe her more and more with every day. ♥
> 
> Title adapted from [a poem by Elisabeth Hewer](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/95451319610/whoever-told-you-love-was-supposed-to-be-perfect) (which is very, very them).

Natasha doesn’t swear, not this time, but she hisses, her fingers twisting tighter in James’ hair. She feels the huff of his laugh rather than hears it, and it makes her shudder, shift her hips closer to him and his damned _mouth_.

James has always been ridiculously good at this, the very few times they had the luxury. Few others have ever been able to take her apart so easily, and none of them with James’ dedication, or _delight_. Natasha swears he enjoys this just as much as she does.

And oh, she _does_.

She tugs, and James eases back immediately – he’s always so receptive, so tuned into her every movement, Natasha sometimes thinks he knows what she wants before she does. (The thought…isn’t as terrifying as it once was.) She takes a moment to just _look_ , because he makes such a sight on his knees, both her legs over his shoulders and hair sticking to his face, the corners of his mouth. That fucking mouth, swollen and slick, curling up in an almost-lazy smile. “See something you like?” he drawls, and Natasha does curse then, pulling him back in. James laughs again, presses a kiss to the inside of her knee before returning to her.

Natasha doesn’t even try to pretend that doesn’t make something inside her quiver, something that has nothing to do with breath and lips against slick skin. She rubs her thumb over his temple, over the scar he doesn’t remember getting, and arches as his clever tongue flickers against her clit. The noise she makes is high, too breathy for her liking, but she won’t take it back, won’t swallow them down. They spent too long being quiet.

James makes an approving noise, one she feels travelling through her. She digs a heel into the meat of his back, and his moan thrills her more than anything he does deliberately. Her own smile feels sharp.

His hands, curled tight around her hips, tighten for just a moment, stealing Natasha’s breath, and then the left is gone, the air warm against her skin. She almost protests, until James’ breath hitches. Realisation floods her, and she thinks she says something – his name, maybe; another curse, most likely – before the orgasm hits, rushing through her like so many bright, shimmering lights, colours swimming and exploding behind her eyes.

She comes back to herself hunched over with the force of it, with James pressing kisses to the crease of her thigh. He’s panting, breath hot and wet against her skin, and Natasha runs a hand through his hair, soothes at the places she pulled too tight. “Aren’t you ready yet?”

He moans again, turns his face into her thigh. _“Nat.”_ There’s a whine to his voice, something that settles, satisfied, in the pit of her stomach.

She thinks about the sight he makes, shoulders slumped, shaking, metal fingers wrapped around his cock, and she shivers. Easing her legs off his shoulders (and oh, she’s going to be stiff for _days_. She’s looking forward to it – and not just because of the amount of complaining Clint will do), she tips his head back with fingers tucked under his chin. His eyes are wide, almost frantic, and when Natasha kisses him, soft and sweet, he jolts even as he opens for her.

Natasha hums at her own taste in his mouth and pulls back to press her forehead to his, cradles his head in both her hands. “Come on, _dorogoi_ ,” she murmurs, and the noise he makes is more a sob than anything else. She kisses him through it, slips down to sit beside him on the floor and lets him slump against her, press his face against her shoulder. He shudders out a breath, and Natasha threads fingers through his hair, traces down his spine as he settles.

They drag themselves to the bed, eventually (the chair’s going to have to be burned; a shame, she'd _liked_ that chair), and Natasha lets him wrap himself around her, his arm a cool, solid weight around her waist. This is familiar, even when everything else still has that heady rush of _new_ and _free_.

James presses a kiss against the curve of her neck, as close to the scar as he’ll let himself get. It’s progress. “Okay?” he whispers, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Better than.” She leaves the “idiot” unsaid, but James snorts as if he hears it anyway. Instead, she puts an arm over his, tangles their fingers together; she can feel his smile against the back of her neck as his breathing evens out.


End file.
